Matters of the Heart
by chelsie fan
Summary: Mr. Carson is ill. While caring for him, Mrs. Hughes makes a startling discovery. She accidentally comes across his diary and is shocked to find that the entries within are addressed to her! Takes place after Series 3 but before Series 4. Revisits all our favorite Chelsie moments from Series 1, 2, and 3.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N I wasn't planning to write another story, at least not so soon after the last two, but I had an idea, and this is what I came up with for a start. Let's see how it goes. This story takes place after Series 3 but before Series 4. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think. Your reviews inspire me, help me improve, and to a certain extent, determine the direction of the story. Without your kind reviews and encouragement during my previous stories, I probably would not have had the desire to make another attempt.**

Chapter 1

Mrs. Hughes sat next to Mr. Carson's bed late that night, holding his hand, sniffling softly, and praying fervently for his recovery. He had suffered another attack, and Dr. Clarkson was very concerned. This time, it hadn't been a simple case of nervous exhaustion; it had most definitely been his heart. The doctor had said that he would stand a fair chance of recovering fully, _if_ he were to rest, but his condition was very fragile. The smallest hint of stress or anxiety could cause the onset of another episode, and to that end, Dr. Clarkson had administered some sleeping medication and instructed Mrs. Hughes to be sure that Mr. Carson remained still and calm for several days. He was now resting comfortably, while she kept vigil, her own heart pained by the recollection of the circumstances that had led to the incident.

She had stormed into his pantry earlier that afternoon, angry about some last minute changes he had made without consulting her, and they had argued. The disagreement itself had been no more serious than hundreds of others they had had over the years, but this time the outcome had been devastating. At one point during the heated exchange, Mr. Carson's face had flared red, his eyes had bulged, and he had clutched at his chest, finally collapsing into his chair. Panicking inwardly, Mrs. Hughes had retained just enough composure to do what was necessary. She had had the presence of mind to loosen his tie and collar and to undo the top buttons of his shirt. Then she had used the telephone in his pantry to call the doctor, while Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates had helped Mr. Carson upstairs to his bedroom.

Now, hours later, convinced that the whole dreadful occurrence had been completely her fault, she became wracked with guilt every time she replayed the scene in her mind. She was tormented by feelings of grief, sorrow, and worry. The man she loved lay before her in a very precarious state, and there was precious little she could do to improve his situation.

She watched him sleep, studying his features in the dim light of a single lamp. She could never stare at his handsome face so openly while he was awake, so she took the opportunity to commit to memory every line and contour. She even allowed herself the pleasure of brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead – something else she could never do while he was awake. He stirred, and she was afraid she had awakened him, but he just shivered from the chill and remained asleep.

Intending to find him another blanket, Mrs. Hughes tiptoed to the large steamer trunk at the foot of his bed, opened it carefully, and found a thick coverlet conveniently lying right on top of all the other items inside. She lifted it out of the trunk, carried it to the side of the bed, and began to unfold it. As she did so, something fell from between the folds. When the item hit the floor, it made enough noise in the otherwise silent room that she jumped. Once again, she feared that Mr. Carson would wake, but the doctor's sleeping draught must have been quite potent, because the patient continued to slumber. She covered him with the quilt and then stooped to retrieve the fallen article.

Upon closer examination, she saw that it was a black, leather-bound volume with no markings on the outside, and she presumed it to be one of the butler's ledgers. Wondering why a household account book would have been hidden among the folds of a blanket in his steamer trunk, Mrs. Hughes moved nearer the lamp and opened it to the first page. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found written there in Mr. Carson's impeccable script:

_Dearest Mrs. Hughes,_

_I begin this register, this diary, of sorts, with the intention of recording all the things I would like to tell you but cannot. The first and most important of these things is that I love you. You may know that I care for you deeply, as my dearest friend, and that I hold you in the highest regard, as my capable and trusted colleague, but that is only half the story. The rest - what you do not know and what I dare not tell you - is that I am in love with you, as well. Love of the heart-stopping, breath-taking, knee-weakening variety._

_I would gladly tell you all this, the whole truth, the second half of the story, so to speak, if not for the first half. The simple fact is that I value your steadfast and loyal companionship too highly to risk losing you altogether. If I were to proclaim my love for you outright, you surely would never be able to look at me or speak to me the same way again, and our friendship would be ruined. I don't dare hope that you could possibly love me in the same way, and so I have resigned myself to love you in the secrecy of my heart, and in the pages of this book, where I will register the thoughts and feelings I long to share with you._

_We spend most evenings together, chatting about this and that over glasses of port and sherry. We talk of luncheon menus and cleaning schedules; we speak about the family and their guests; we discuss how the new maids are settling in and decry the footmen's frivolity. While I cherish this time with you, it is not nearly enough. I want to share my innermost thoughts with you. I want to know all your joys, your fears, your hopes, your longings, your heart's desire. I can't help thinking that if we were married, I should like to sit with you at the end of each day, hold you in my arms, reveal all my secrets to you, and hear you whisper your secrets to me._

_Alas, since I cannot hold you in my arms and share with you my heart's most intimate workings, I shall document here everything I would tell you if I could, while I imagine you here in my embrace. It's an imperfect solution, I know, and the conversation will be a bit one-sided, I'm afraid, but I have no better plan._

_I shall end this first entry with a solemn promise: should I ever have reason to believe, beyond my wildest imaginings, that you might return my affections, should I have reasonable assurance that I will not jeopardise our friendship the moment I speak, I will not hesitate to lay bare my heart to you._

_Actually, upon further consideration, I think I shall end with an earnest prayer: a prayer that I shall someday be granted the blessed opportunity to fulfill the aforementioned promise._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Wow! What can I say? I am just floored by the number of reviews, favorites, and follows for the first chapter. Completely overwhelmed. You're wonderful, all of you! I must admit, after "Small Advances" I wasn't sure I could come up with another good idea and write a story that pleased me as much as that one did. I'm grateful that you seem happy with my attempt. ****Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. I responded to all members via private messages, but I want to acknowledge also all the guests who reviewed, but two in particular.**

**To LavenderHybrid: welcome aboard HMS Chelsie! Full steam ahead! Please thank your sister for purchasing your ticket. And to Golden771: the deal is not off! I'm not opposed to the idea of a sequel for "Small Advances." I just need some inspiration. I'll give it some thought!**

**So Mr. Carson has been keeping a journal containing everything he'd like to share with Mrs. Hughes. It's in his deliberate nature. That's what he does. He's a butler. He keeps careful records. He painstakingly archives everything else. Why wouldn't he document his feelings, as well?**

**On the show, we're not privileged to know what's going on inside the characters' heads. We watch the scenes and take away only what we've observed. I thought the idea of Mrs. Hughes finding Mr. Carson's book would allow us to see what both characters were thinking during and after their interactions in the scenes from the first three series. So here it is, Chapter 2.**

Chapter 2

Mrs. Hughes gaped, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the words on the page. Mr. Carson loved her! Her heart began to pound almost painfully, breathing became nearly impossible, and tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Her legs threatened to give out, and she sat back down in the chair next to the bed, clutching the book with trembling hands. Casting a quick glance at Mr. Carson to make sure that he was still sleeping soundly, she turned the page and continued to read:

_April 22, 1912_

_Oh, Mrs. Hughes! I have never been so close to confessing my love for you as I was this afternoon!_

_After the memorial luncheon for Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick, I called the family "our family," and you scoffed. You said that they aren't "our family," but I told you that they're the only family I've got. I could see the hurt in your eyes, and I apologised. Of course, you are my family. I didn't mean to imply otherwise; I just couldn't say it so directly. You seemed to understand, and you softened then. You asked me if I ever wish I'd gone another way: had a different life, a real family._

_Oh, how I wanted to answer you! Of course I do, Mrs. Hughes - every day! I couldn't tell you that, though, because you weren't asking … surely you weren't thinking … you certainly didn't mean … with you? The question was purely hypothetical. Wasn't it? Your query was a general one, but my response, had I given it, would have been very specific: yes, I do wish I'd gone another way - with you._

_Instead of answering, I directed the question back at you, and you replied, "Maybe. Sometimes." I noticed something in your eyes, and for a moment, I imagined that perhaps you might have been thinking the same thing I was thinking. For an instant, I truly believed you might love me._

_I don't know what I might have done, had we not been interrupted just then. I was very close to risking our friendship with a passionate declaration, and I'm not sure whether I should feel relieved or bitter about having been prevented from doing so._

Though it had been nearly ten years, Mrs. Hughes remembered that conversation as if it had happened yesterday. She still marveled at her own brazenness in asking him exactly what she had been thinking and in answering truthfully when he had turned her question on her. Yes, of course, she had been asking him about another way _with her_! And when she had responded, "Maybe. Sometimes," to his deflected question, of course, she had been thinking of a different life and a real family _with him_. She had feared revealing too much with her frank reply and the honest manner in which she had given it. She might have made a complete fool of herself, had it not been for a timely knock on the door.

She moved on to read another passage:

_September 13, 1912_

_Mrs. Hughes, you flatter me, and when you look at me as you did today, I actually believe what you say. At least, I believe that you believe it. It almost makes me happier to think that it's not true, and yet you still believe it._

_I had been feeling very down earlier, after the episode with Grigg. My pride had been injured, and my dignity was all but gone. I came to you, shoulders slumping, head hanging, and asked if you found me ridiculous. I told you I felt like a sad, old fool._

_I know I can be a vain and foolish man, and you never tire of reminding me when I become too pompous. However, you knew how low I was this afternoon. Instead of poking gentle fun at me, as you might have done, you restored my self-worth with a few sincere words and such an earnest look that I struggled to hold back my tears._

_You told me that I am a man of integrity and honour. You shall never know how your words touched my heart. I don't know whether that is true, but I saw in your face that you believe it to be true. In the end, that's all that matters to me. If you think well of me, then I am a happy man. That is why, as we set out together for Mrs. Crawley's installation ceremony, I threw my shoulders back, held my head high, and walked just a little bit taller._

She remembered that conversation vividly, as well. She hadn't known why he had been so troubled, but when he had come to her for reassurance, she couldn't help but tell him precisely how she had felt about him. It hadn't been flattery. She had believed it then and still believed it now.

Though she would have liked to read further, Mrs. Hughes felt she should pull herself away from her recollections and ruminations to address a problem: what was she going to do now? Mr. Carson was lying ill in bed just two feet away from her. His condition was uncertain, at best. She had just read his private entries in a book that she probably should not have found, certainly should not have opened, and most definitely should not have read. Despite the fact that his entries were addressed to her, they clearly were not meant for her to read.

If he were to wake right now, what would she do? Tell him she had found his book, opened it, and read it? Tell him his feelings were reciprocated? She knew that telling him those things would certainly not serve to keep Mr. Carson calm, as Dr. Clarkson had directed her to do. Now that she knew his feelings, should she put the book away and simply declare her love out of the blue, never mentioning his diary? That would run counter to the doctor's directive, as well, since she hoped an assertion of her love would sufficiently agitate him.

She decided that the wisest course of action for the time being, difficult as it might prove, would be not to act on this new information until Mr. Carson recovered - _if _he recovered. Even before reading of his love for her, she had been paralyzed with dread at the prospect that he might not get better. Now that she knew what she could look forward to if he regained his health, so much more was at stake. So Mrs. Hughes determined that she would do everything in her power to make him well again, and once he recovered, she would then devote her efforts to making her love known to him.

Much as she wanted to know more, it was too risky to continue reading Mr. Carson's diary while she was sitting right next to him and he might wake at any time. She closed the book and set it aside. Seeing that he now seemed warm enough, she gently removed the extra cover from him, folded it back up, put the book inside, and placed both items carefully back in his trunk just as she had found them.

Mr. Hughes stood next to his bed and observed Mr. Carson while he slept. He looked so serene. It was hard to believe something might be wrong inside. Suddenly, she was seized with an overpowering urge that she didn't even try to resist. She bent over him, once again pushed aside that wayward curl of hair from his forehead, and tenderly kissed the top of his head. A single tear rolled from her cheek and landed on his. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her, their faces just inches apart. He smiled, sighed contentedly, closed his eyes, and returned to his peaceful slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thank you, once again, for all the wonderful encouragement in the form of reviews, favorites, and follows. I wouldn't be able to do this without your kind inspiration.**

**This chapter reveals Charles's thoughts when he wakes up. I'm sorry that there's no diary in this chapter, but there will be in the next!**

**By the way, for anyone interested, you can now find me on tumblr as chelsiefan71. I'm just finally getting up to speed with the rest of the world.**

Chapter 3

Mr. Carson woke feeling groggy. He recognized that he was in his own bed, but he was dimly aware of someone else's presence. He felt a pleasant warmth and comfortable weight on top of his hand. He blinked several times to clear his eyes, and in the early morning light just beginning to creep through his window, he beheld the angelic face of the sleeping housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes was sitting, shoulders slouched, head tilted charmingly to one side, in his armchair next to his bed, and apparently, she was holding his hand. He wondered momentarily if this were a continuation of the lovely dream he had had during the night, the one in which she had caressed his face so sweetly, run her fingers so gently through his hair, and so tenderly kissed his head. Mr. Carson was in a haze, and it took him a moment to convince himself that he was indeed awake and a further moment to make sense of his situation. He had to piece together the circumstances which led to his current state. Before long, it all came back to him: the argument, his unfortunate incident, the doctor, the sedative drug …

He tried desperately not to move, since he was deriving tremendous pleasure from the warm, soft hand covering his own and did not want to do anything to risk having it removed. Also, he was enjoying watching Mrs. Hughes sleep. Her typically stern expression softened when she slept, and she looked utterly content. The worry lines that troubled her face during the stress-filled work days and diminished only slightly during their relaxed evening chats all but vanished in her slumber. Mr. Carson thought that if he could wake up next to her like this _every_ morning, he would be the happiest man who ever lived. So blissful was he just looking at her and feeling her hand that he gladly would have remained motionless all day, but he had only lain awake for a few minutes when Mrs. Hughes woke of her own accord.

"Oh! Mr. Carson! I'm sorry! I must have nodded off," she apologized, straightening herself in the chair. She realized then that her hand was resting on his, and she self-consciously withdrew it.

"You've been here all night, then?" Mr. Carson said quietly, smiling up at her, with a look that was both disapproving and affectionate at the same time. It was more a statement than a question.

"Well … Dr. Clarkson said to be sure you rested, and I was afraid that if I weren't here, you might try to get up and go sort the wine delivery or polish the silver," she said in reply, chuckling half-heartedly. Then she continued more seriously, "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Carson? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, I can't say that I feel ready to take on the world. I must admit, I feel a bit weak, and everything's somewhat hazy," he informed her.

"To be honest, Mr. Carson, I've been worried about you. I feel responsible for your condition. I'm sorry we quarreled. I shouldn't have been so angry over such a trivial matter. Please forgive me," she implored him.

"There's nothing to forgive, Mrs. Hughes. If we're to be perfectly honest, as you say, then I'm just as much at fault for our dispute. I should have consulted you first. However, that dispute was not responsible for my present state," he tried to reassure her. "Our quarrel was no more serious than many of our other disagreements; in fact, it was a good deal _less_ serious than most of them. We've had some good rows, you and I, but none of them has ever landed me in bed for a week."

"Yes, well, perhaps we've just been fortunate until now. Dr. Clarkson says you must rest and remain calm, and I intend to see that you do. Now, I'll go and see to your breakfast; I'm sure Mrs. Patmore's already fixed you a tray. I'll send up Mr. Bates to help you to use the bathroom and wash up. In the meantime, you are not to move from this bed!" she enjoined him strictly, fixing a steely glare at him, and left before he could respond.

Later, that evening, Mrs. Hughes appeared in his room with a tray laden with dinner for two. He had been sitting in bed uneasily most of the day, trying to read; his head was still in a fog, and he felt weak, but he was restless. Mrs. Hughes had been in and out during the day, checking on him whenever she could and sending someone else when she couldn't. Dr. Clarkson had come back to examine him and had said that he was doing well and should continue to rest. Now, after everyone else had been settled for the night, Mrs. Hughes had come to have her dinner with him.

"How are you feeling this evening?" she inquired, as she removed her own plate and then set the tray on his lap.

"Much the same," Mr. Carson responded, as they began to eat. "How is everything downstairs?"

"Well, Mr. Barrow has not yet let everything fall to pieces, if that's what you're asking," she told him with a sly smirk. "So far, we're managing to keep everything together. But you're missed, you know. Everyone sends get-well wishes."

Mrs. Hughes told him about her day, and he sat and listened. It was just like every other evening they spent together, except for the fact that Mr. Carson was wearing pajamas and lying in his bed. When they had finished their meal, she put everything back on the tray and took it downstairs, promising to return directly. When she reappeared a few minutes later, she was carrying a pillow, a blanket, and a book.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Mr. Carson asked, raising an eyebrow as she settled into the chair next to his bed, placing the pillow behind her, covering herself with the quilt, and setting the book on her lap.

"Don't even try to dissuade me, Mr. Carson. If I become angry, you will become agitated, and that will not help the situation," she insisted.

"Mrs. Hughes, you need your rest," he argued. "You can't have slept very much last night, and you won't sleep well tonight, either, like _that_."

"I won't sleep _at all_ unless I know you're all right. What if you start to feel poorly again? I won't hear you, and I can't help you, if I'm in my own room. I'm perfectly comfortable right here, thank you very much," she finished with an air of finality that put an end to all discussion on the matter.

He smiled fondly at her, shaking his head and thinking to himself, "_Ridiculous, impossible, bloody beautiful woman!"_ Then the thought occurred to him that he would wake up next to her in the morning again, and his smile widened.

Opening her book, Mrs. Hughes smiled back at him and said, "Good night, Mr. Carson."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes," he replied, settling himself in for what he was sure would be a peaceful night filled with pleasant dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Here's Chapter 4. Thank you to all my reviewers and followers. A special thank you to MeltMeChelsie, a guest reviewer who does me no favors by feeding my pride and vanity. I'm glad you liked my Downton Labbey post on tumblr. I spent far too much time on it and drew my family into to my web of insanity, but I had a lot of fun. The next few chapters should follow reasonably quickly; I anticipate having some time to work on them soon. Please, please, pretty please, keep reviewing! I daresay I enjoy your reviews more than you enjoy my story!**

Chapter 4

Mrs. Hughes read her book until she was sure Mr. Carson was sleeping soundly. Then she crept quietly to the trunk and retrieved his diary. She knew it was a gamble, but she couldn't help herself. She wanted so badly to read more. Of course, she longed to hear the ardent words issuing from his mouth, but seeing his love for her professed in ink on paper was the next best thing.

She settled herself back into his chair and situated her quilt such that she could pull it up quickly to cover the book if Mr. Carson showed any signs of waking. For a moment, she just studied the volume, running her fingers over the leather cover and down the spine. She thought about all the precious words he had written inside, and how he must have thought of her while he had written them, just as she would now think of him while she read them. Finally, she opened the book and began to read:

_April 25, 1913_

_My heart aches, Mrs. Hughes. The letters have started again – the ones from your Mr. Burns. You've never told me about him, but I remember that he wrote to you when you first came to Downton. I was very jealous that a man was writing to you, for I loved you even then. I didn't know who he was, but after several agonising months, I was put out of my misery when the letters stopped coming._

_In today's post, however, I found another letter from him. I remembered his name, of course. How could I forget the name of the man who, I feared, would take you from Downton – from me? I couldn't look at you when I handed you the envelope. I didn't want to see your face, and I hoped you couldn't see mine. The fear has returned now, and the pain along with it. The thought that another man might hold your heart wounds me like nothing else could._

_May 29, 1913_

_Mrs. Hughes, you can't imagine what I feel. You went out tonight, to the fair, and you looked so lovely. You offered, before you left, to remain at the house and help, since things here were somewhat chaotic. As much as I wanted you to stay, I told you to go. Your remaining behind would only have served to delay the inevitable._

_I'm sure you went to meet this Mr. Burns, because you'd had another letter from him last week. When you returned, Thomas remarked that you looked "sparkly-eyed," and I couldn't deny it. You looked particularly beautiful, and it pained me to know that another man was the cause of your exceptional radiance._

_I am filled with dread at the prospect that soon you will tell me you are leaving us – leaving me! If I thought for an instant that you cared for me half as much as I love you, I would tell you of my love and ask you to stay. Yet, what right have I to ask? If you love this man, then I shall be pleased for you, no matter my own suffering. I am struck with the ridiculous notion to hope that he is horrible and fat and red-faced, and you can't think what you ever saw in him, but I don't honestly believe that I shall be that lucky. If I am so unfortunate that he is kind and decent and handsome, and you do love him, then it is my fervent wish is that he should care for you as you deserve, for I value your happiness above my own._

_May 31, 1913_

_I have never been so relieved in all my life, Mrs. Hughes! When I came into your sitting room earlier and found you so lost in thought, you told me you wanted to talk to me about something. I was sure you would tell me you would be leaving Downton to marry Mr. Burns. You told me about him, and, I admit, I have never been so jealous in all my life. My heart was on the floor as you spoke of him so fondly. I asked if he had proposed and if you had accepted. The seconds between my question and your answer were an agonising eternity, and I waited with bated breath._

_When you finally told me you hadn't accepted his offer and you wouldn't be leaving, I was overcome with joy and nearly pulled you into my arms. I might have done, had we not been interrupted. I knew you hadn't refused him on my account, but it didn't matter. I was grateful that I wouldn't be losing you, and I found myself able to breathe again._

Mrs. Hughes couldn't believe it. Her eyes filled with tears, and her throat constricted. Mr. Carson had been jealous of Joe Burns! He had even taken notice of the letters and had known when she had gone to the fair with Joe, before she had told him. She hadn't thought that telling him about Joe's proposal would affect him so. She had been flattered, certainly, by Joe's advances - after all, it had been a long time since she had enjoyed that type of attention from a man – but truth be told, the entire time she had been with Joe, she had been thinking about Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes had spent her evening at the fair with another man, but her thoughts remained back at the house with the man she loved. And apparently, Mr. Carson had spent his evening at the house, haunted by thoughts of the woman he loved at the fair with someone else. It had never been her intention to make Mr. Carson envious, and her heart was saddened by the thought that she had hurt him. She had never imagined that he might have such feelings for her, but now she held the evidence in her hands.

She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and tried to stifle a sob. As quiet as she tried to be, the small commotion was enough to disturb Mr. Carson. He shifted in bed, opened his eyes, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked directly at her. Mrs. Hughes had just enough warning to be able to conceal his journal beneath her blanket before he noticed it.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N As promised, the next installment. It's a little on the short side, and it contains no writing from the diary, but the next chapter will be posted soon (tomorrow, barring anything unforeseen). It will be longer and will contain many of our favorite Chelsie scenes from Series 2.**

**I do so appreciate all the reviews. Your kind words give me the energy and the purpose to continue. Please keep sharing your thoughts! Hope everyone is liking this!**

Chapter 5

"Mrs. Hughes?" asked Mr. Carson, sitting up in bed and looking concerned. "What's the matter? You've been crying!"

"Oh!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed, thinking quickly and picking up her book from his nightstand while still trying to conceal his diary under her quilt. "It's silly, really, Mr. Carson. I was just reading, and … Well, I got a bit … Let's just say I found myself somewhat emotional."

"Mrs. Hughes, I don't pretend to know your disposition when you're alone at night … ahem … reading, in your room, that is," he said uncomfortably, "but you don't strike me as the type of woman who goes all soppy over passages in books."

"Nevertheless, that is exactly what has happened," she insisted, hoping he would believe the half-truth. "You'd be surprised. The written word can be very powerful, and certain books do have that effect on me."

"And just what, may I ask, are you reading that has affected you so?" Mr. Carson demanded, pointing at her book.

"Oh, it's … erm …" she fumbled, trying to obscure the book. "Oh, never mind! I'm fine, Mr. Carson. Just go back to sleep. You need your rest."

"_The Hound of the Baskervilles_?" he questioned with raised eyebrows, having seen the title on the cover. "_That's _what's made you all weepy? Oh, yes, that one really tugs at the heartstrings! Holmes is quite the romantic. Or is it Watson who's got you all teary-eyed?"

"Mr. Carson, do return to sleep, or I shall have to call Dr. Clarkson for another sedative!" cried Mrs. Hughes, exasperated. She set her book back on his night table next to his lamp and a glass of water.

"Mrs. Hughes," he pleaded gently, reaching to grasp her hand, "do tell me what's wrong. I shan't rest easy knowing you're troubled."

"Nothing's 'wrong,' and I'm not 'troubled,'" she told him firmly.

"So you won't tell me, then?" he asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I appreciate your concern, but it's rather personal," she informed him, speaking more softly now. "I daresay there are many things _you_ don't tell _me_," she added with a knowing, sideways look.

"Perhaps there are," he relented, sighing and releasing her hand. "Promise me this much, at least. You'll tell me if there's something I can do to help?"

"I will. I do promise you that, Mr. Carson," she assured him solemnly. "Now. My job was to be sure that you didn't become agitated, and I'm afraid I've already failed at that task. So let's get you settled again and tucked back in before I make the situation any worse."

Mrs. Hughes slowly stood, being extremely cautious to keep his diary hidden under her blanket. She turned away from Mr. Carson and carefully set her cover on top of his journal on the chair where she had been sitting. Then she spun around to face him again.

"Would you like some water?" she suggested, taking his glass from the table and offering it to him.

"Thank you," he acknowledged, nodding slightly and accepting the glass.

He took a drink, set the glass back on his nightstand, and lay back down. Mrs. Hughes leaned over him and pulled his blanket up to his chin, lightly brushing her fingers against the side of his neck, as if by accident, and pausing to rest her hand on his chest longer than was proper. For a long moment, he studied her with a piercing look that rendered her heartbeat and breathing erratic, and she was seized with an almost overpowering urge to confess everything – to tell him that she had read of his love and that she returned it with great vigor. At the same time, she was nearly overcome with the corresponding desire to kiss him. She turned away quickly, to avoid yielding to either longing, or both. It wouldn't do for her to perturb Mr. Carson now. Any shocking admissions and amorous demonstrations would have to wait until Dr. Clarkson pronounced him better.

She took hold of her quilt from the chair, making certain to grasp his diary firmly underneath the material, and managed to settle herself back in his chair and cover herself without revealing the journal. Mr. Carson rolled onto his side to face her, and he simply watched her for several minutes. She pretended to be reading and not to notice his stare, because she was thrilled by the notion that he regarded her is such a way.

After a few minutes, he said quietly, "Thank you for caring for me, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, Mr. Carson. You know I do," answered Mrs. Hughes sincerely, blushing fiercely and averting her eyes.

Before long, his slow, deep breathing told her that he had fallen asleep again, and she herself breathed a sigh of relief.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Here's Chapter 6 - Mr. Carson's diary entry after his collapse from nervous exhaustion, followed by Mrs. Hughes's reaction to reading it. I hope you're liking this. If you're still with me, thank you for hanging in there this far. Thank you for all your reviews. You know how much they mean to me.**

Chapter 6

Mrs. Hughes removed Mr. Carson's diary from underneath her blanket and considered it once more. She didn't dare read any more right there in front of him, even though he was asleep. She had almost been caught once already, and it was too dangerous to venture another glimpse. It wasn't as though she felt she were doing anything wrong. She would tell him eventually, of course. She would tell him right now if she could, and oh, good gracious, how she wanted to! But she loved him dearly, and she wouldn't risk his health by unsettling him just now.

So desperate was she, however, to read more of his tender testimonies that she struck upon an idea. She would sneak out of his room and take the journal with her to her own room. She didn't like the idea of leaving him alone, but she wouldn't be gone long. She would leave open his door, the door between the men's and women's rooms (everyone was sound asleep by now), and her own door. Since there was no other noise in the house at this hour, she would surely hear him if something were amiss. And if Mr. Carson woke and wondered where she had gone, she could always claim to have gone back to her room to fetch something. Yes, that would work quite nicely, Mrs. Hughes thought.

She stole quietly out of his room, leaving her pillow, quilt, and book on his chair, and carrying only Mr. Carson's diary tucked under her arm. Then she tiptoed down the hallway, quietly unlocking the door between the men's and women's corridors, and entered her own room. Finally, she turned on her lamp, sat down in her armchair, and began to read:

_April 27, 1917_

_Mrs. Hughes, when you care for me as you have these past days, I can almost believe that you care for me as I wish you would. Since I've been ill, you've been so devoted - I'd say even loving, if I didn't know better._

_Even before my dreadful episode in the dining room, you fussed over me, trying to lighten my load, telling me to slow down and to rest. Little things that would normally demand my attention somehow began sorting themselves out. Papers started disappearing from my desk and reappearing only when they had been put in order. My footmen didn't trouble me with minor inconveniences, because you intercepted them before they disturbed me. You appropriated to yourself many of the tasks that would normally fall to me. You never formally offered me your help, because you knew in my pride I'd refuse it, but simply bestowed your aid without ever allowing me the chance to reject it._

_Yet still, I've been foolish enough to work myself into this state, and so here I sit, in my bed, in the middle of the day, feeling ridiculous and useless. And how have I repaid your kindness and concern? I've more than doubled your workload! Now it's down to you to keep the house running on your own, to do both your job and mine, and in addition, you must worry yourself over a troublesome man who doesn't deserve your loyalty._

_Among all your endless daily duties, you find time to come and bring me my meals … refill my water glass … make me drink that vile concoction Dr. Clarkson has foisted upon me … plump my pillow … smooth my blanket. When you lean over me to do these things, it's all I can do not to grasp your wrist and hold you fast._

_You think I don't know that you check on me even during the night, but I do. I can hear my door open, and I pretend to be asleep, but if I peer out of the corner of my eye, I can see your silhouette slip silently into my room. Your figure lingers long enough only to see that I am well, and then it leaves as quietly as it came._

_I know I may grumble, and I'm sure I don't show my appreciation, but the truth is that I delight in your attentions. After one of your visits, my heart is filled with love, and I dare to hope. I can convince myself momentarily that you would never go to such trouble if you didn't feel for me the same great love I have for you. Then I remind myself that you are the kindest, most generous soul on God's good earth, and that you would do the same for anyone, and I am forced to admit that you possess no special regard for me that goes beyond simple friendship._

Mrs. Hughes thought back to the time Mr. Carson had suffered his nervous attack. She had been worried about him for weeks before it happened and had indeed tried in vain to make him reduce his anxieties. Then on that awful night, he had collapsed at dinner. She had never been more frightened in her life. She hadn't even breathed until the doctor had told her that he would be all right. So _of course_, she had fussed over him. She loved him. How could she ever have let anyone else take care of him? She could never have trusted him to anyone else. She had wanted hers to be the face that greeted him upon waking in the morning and the last one he saw before drifting off to sleep at night. She had enjoyed tending to him. It had given her an excuse to spend more time with him and to do things for him that he would never allow under other circumstances.

And now, here she was, years later, caring for him once again. Only this time, it was more serious. She couldn't be completely assured of his return to health. Dr. Clarkson had said Mr. Carson would stand a fair chance or recovery if he rested, but she knew better than anyone that inactivity was nearly impossible for the recalcitrant butler. Even _with_ proper rest, his healing was not entirely certain, and the thought that the man she loved was gravely ill and might die was more than Mrs. Hughes could bear.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Chapter 7 recalls William's death. I did a little research, trying to get all the dates correct, and I found an inconsistency. William is supposed to have been mortally wounded in the Battle of Amiens. The date on his grave marker in subsequent episodes reads July 26, 1918, but that can't be correct, because the Battle of Amiens didn't happen until August of 1918. So I took the liberty of changing the date of William's death to one that actually makes sense. Minor detail, but I'm one of those ridiculous people who thinks details and accuracy are important.**

**Thank you for sticking with me this far and for continuing to review. I hang on your every word. Seriously. You don't know what your reviews mean to me. Please keep them coming!**

**Next chapter: Haxby**

Chapter 7

Not wanting to miss what would likely be her last chance to read his precious sentiments, Mrs. Hughes flipped through Mr. Carson's diary looking for meaningful dates. The entries were by no means daily (sometimes weeks passed without his noting anything), but he did seem to record his thoughts regarding any event of major significance. She turned some pages and found the following passage:

_August 20, 1918_

_We've lost our William today, Mrs. Hughes. I don't claim to know how it feels to lose a child, but the lad was the closest thing I'll ever have to a son. I know he'd always looked on you as a second mother, even before his own mother died, and I have no doubt your feelings toward him were quite maternal, as well. I can't imagine it would have been more painful if he had been our own._

_I'll not deny it, Mrs. Hughes. I sometimes imagine you as my wife and our charges as our own children. __I'm __reminded of the time, years ago, when you asked me if I ever wished I'd gone another way, and you said that you sometimes wished you had done. You and our maids and footmen are _the nearest thing I've got to a real family, and whenever I do dream of having my own family, the woman by my side can be no one but you. You would make a wonderful wife, a marvelous mother, and that thought burns a hole inside me.

_Neither of us said very much tonight as we drank our scotch; the plain fact that we had chosen something a bit stronger than our usual evening drink spoke volumes. As we sipped in silence, I thought not only about losing our adopted son, but also about his hurried marriage to Daisy. Though it's not my place to say, I feel it was wrong. Daisy is a kind girl and would never intentionally hurt a soul, but it was only her desire to see William happy, fueled by pure, tender-hearted pity (along with some heavy-handed persuasion from you and Mrs. Patmore), that compelled her to marry him. She certainly did not love the poor lad the way he loved her. Our William may have died a happy man, but he died in blissful ignorance. I think, if he had known the truth, he would have been devastated. He would have been injured less by the complete absence of Daisy's love than by the knowledge that her love was false. A man's pride suffers more from pity than it does from rejection._

_When I think of these things, I fear for my own heart. You are the most kind-hearted, selfless person I've ever known, and that is part of the reason I resist candidly declaring my love for you. If I were to make advances, in your selflessness and compassion, you would not want to see me hurt. I know that you genuinely care for me, and I couldn't bear the thought that you might feign romantic affection toward me out of some sense of sympathy or loyalty._

_That is why, when you came to my pantry this evening, saw my sadness, and softly squeezed my shoulder, I convinced myself that it was simply a sign of support. That is why, when we said good night, and you caressed my hand for a brief, delightful instant, I wouldn't allow myself to believe that your touch conveyed anything more than friendly comfort. And that is why, when you held my gaze just before we parted ways, I chastised myself for hoping, insisting emphatically that your eyes were merely assuring me, "It will be all right, Mr. Carson," and most decidedly not whispering, "I love you, daft man!"_

The recollection of William's death brought a fresh wave of sorrow to Mrs. Hughes. Mr. Carson was right: William _was_ like a son to them – the closest thing either of them would ever have. They had both cared for him deeply. Mrs. Hughes had shown her affection more overtly, but she had no doubt of Mr. Carson's particular fondness for the lad. William had been an awkward young boy when he had first arrived at Downton, but in the course of a few short years, they had watched to grow into a fine young man, and they couldn't have been prouder if he had been their own son.

Mrs. Hughes distinctly recalled how miserable she and Mr. Carson had both felt that night. They had sat in his pantry, without speaking, not openly weeping or sobbing, but shedding many tears. She had wanted to comfort him, and she had tried her best to do so, but she had also needed consolation herself. Oh, how she had longed for him to hold her! She had ached to feel his arms around her and to hear his voice whisper sweet, soothing words in her ear. In the end, she had had to settle for gently gripping his shoulder, brushing her hand lightly against his, and staring adoringly into his eyes, all the while trying desperately to restrain her defiant heart.

Pulling her thoughts back to the present, Mrs. Hughes returned her attention to the journal in her hands. She knew exactly what she wanted to read next, and she thumbed through the pages, searching for entries during an especially bleak period. Difficult though it would be for her to read, she desperately wanted to understand Mr. Carson's thinking during that awful time ...


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N So here it is, folks, Chapter 8 - Haxby. This was both painful and cathartic to write. It has never sat well with me that Mr. Carson was willing to leave Mrs. Hughes to go to Haxby, so I had to invent something that placated me. What you are about to read is the most satisfying explanation I could achieve. I'm sorry that it will be spread over two chapters, but it would have been too long for one. I hope you find my explanation plausible and perhaps more soothing than what Julian Fellowes would have us believe.**

**Thank you for the continued reviews, follows, and comments, both here and on tumblr. Please let me know what you think, especially with this chapter. I'm curious to know if you like - or can even believe - my headcanon!**

Chapter 8

Mrs. Hughes found the pages she sought and set about reading:

_November 4, 1918_

_Mrs. Hughes, I cannot bear it! It's bad enough that Lady Mary is going to marry that awful man, but now Sir Richard has asked me to work for them once they are settled! Thus far, Lady Mary is unaware of his intentions, and I've told him I wish to speak with her before I give an answer. I sincerely hope that she will not want to see me uprooted from this house, out of respect for His Lordship. The idea of leaving Downton pains me greatly, and the notion of being parted from you puts my heart in a vise. I pray Lady Mary's good sense will prevail._

_November 5, 1918_

_Lady Mary thinks it a grand idea for me to go to Haxby, Mrs. Hughes. I think it unbearable. I now pin my hopes on His Lordship, who is, as yet, unaware of Sir Richard's offer. When he hears of it, His Lordship surely will not wish me to leave his employ. On the other hand, he does love Lady Mary, and will want her to be happy. Perhaps more importantly, he will want her to be looked after, and to be honest, I think she needs looking after. I don't like Sir Richard, and I certainly don't trust him. Lady Mary doesn't even love him. Oh, how I wish she would call off the whole affair! Failing that, however, I still hold out hope that His Lordship will ask me to remain in his service, and this excruciating decision will be taken out of my hands._

_November 7, 1918_

_Oh, Mrs. Hughes! I am now beyond hope. His Lordship evidently is in favor of Sir Richard's plan. Or at least, he accepts it. I have told Sir Richard I shall give him my answer when he returns, three days from now. I don't see how I can accept, and yet, I don't see how I can possibly refuse. I have never been so miserable in all my life._

_November 10, 1018_

_As I sat at my desk tonight before dinner, Mrs. Hughes, contemplating the wine cellar, I thought I had reached my decision. Painful as it would be, I thought I could leave Downton. I had convinced myself that Lady Mary needs me … that I must protect her from that wretched man … that he must not be allowed to take advantage of her._

_I had persuaded myself that no one would truly miss me here. I thought I would be the only one suffering from the move. I would be leaving part of myself behind – the most important part: my heart. It has been in your custody for some time, though you do not know it, and I had every confidence that you would take very good care it. It had never occurred to me until tonight that you might miss me, too - not in the way that I would miss you, of course, but enough to make me reconsider my decision._

_When you came to my pantry before dinner and found me so pensive, you asked if I had made my decision. I told you I had. When I said, "Don't tell me you'll miss me," I expected playful teasing from you, and I was not prepared for the heartfelt response I received. I can't tell you what I felt when you looked at me so gravely and replied, "I will, Mr. Carson. Very much ..." I could hardly speak when I told you how much your sentiments meant to me. While you may not love me, perhaps you value our friendship as much as I do. I suppose I had not realised that for the sake of our friendship alone, you would be hurt by my leaving. In that instant, I knew what I must do._

_When I spoke with Lady Mary tonight, I told her that I was very touched by her offer of employment at Haxby, but that I could not bear to leave my work here at Downton. First, I informed her that I have great respect for His Lordship and the family, and out of loyalty to them, I would not feel entirely comfortable abandoning the house. Then, I proceeded to point out that I am very proud of and attached to the staff. I said that I believe the servants here are well-trained and work together admirably, and I would not like to start from scratch with an entirely new staff. Finally, I explained that you and I work well together, and I can't see myself ever getting on with another housekeeper the way I do with you. I admitted that I don't think I could carry out my duties satisfactorily without you by my side. Naturally, I tried not to let on that I happen to be desperately in love with you, as well, but I believe Lady Mary may have sensed some deeper attachment._

_And now I am in a worse predicament, Mrs. Hughes! First, Lady Mary dismissed my concerns about the family, telling me I would not miss them at all, because Haxby is so close, and they will be regular visitors. She reminded me that His Lordship has already agreed, so it would not be disloyal in the least. Then, she still insisted that I should come along with her and Sir Richard AND that I should bring with me any members of the staff I would like! After all, she persisted, as butler, I will be in charge of the hiring of staff. She was especially keen that I ask you. I have a feeling she knew that if you were to come along I would not refuse her._

_I told Lady Mary I am not at all certain you will be willing to take a position at Haxby. In fact, I am fairly certain you will NOT be willing to leave Downton. And do you know what she told me? She said she was confident that you must be just as attached to me as I am to you, and she was convinced that I would be able to persuade you to join us! It only stands to reason, she argued, that if I am so opposed to the idea of working with any other housekeeper, you must be just as resistant to the notion of working alongside a different butler. She seems to think that if I simply ask you, you will jump at the chance, and she already assumes that we will both be accompanying her and Sir Richard to their new home when they are married! I reiterated my doubts about your disposition, but in her mind, the matter is already settled. I made it perfectly clear that I will not go anywhere without you and asked her to say nothing more until I speak with you. She offered speak to you herself, but I didn't think that would be prudent. I told her I would ask you myself. Now all I have to do is gather my courage to approach you. Oh, how I wish I could share Lady Mary's confidence!_

Mrs. Hughes stopped there. She could not believe her eyes. What a revelation!

That night had been the most terrible night of her life. When Mr. Carson had said he had made up his mind to leave for Haxby with Lady Mary and Sir Richard, Mrs. Hughes had been crushed. She had tried not to show it. She had told Mr. Carson in all sincerity how much she would miss him, but she was able to hold back her tears and sobs. She had managed to make it through the rest of the evening, and it wasn't until much later, when she was alone in her bedroom late that night, that she finally had surrendered to her sorrow.

But now, Mrs. Hughes had just read that Mr. Carson had intended to take her with him! She had never suspected _that_; he had never asked her to go. She would have gone with him, without a second's hesitation. It was true that Lady Mary had never been her favorite person, to put it mildly, and she had had as little respect for Sir Richard as Mr. Carson had. But she could have put those feelings aside easily if it had meant being with Mr. Carson.

Why had he never asked her to go with him? Had he really been that afraid she would say no? What had happened? She knew _ultimately_ what had happened: their initial mistrust of Sir Richard had been shown to be justified when he had offered Anna a bribe. The bribe had been a convenient excuse for Mr. Carson to refuse to go to Haxby. But that had been months later. Why, during those long, bitter months, hadn't Mr. Carson said a single word indicating his plan? She read on to find out …


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N First of all, I offer my sincere apologies for the long delay between the last chapter and this one. I get very excited when I receive reviews asking eagerly for the next update, and I'm afraid I promised some of you that this would be coming much sooner than it has. I hope I haven't lost too many of you.**

**I had a very hard time with this chapter, and I don't know why. It shouldn't have been so difficult, but it was, for some reason. I'm still not completely satisfied, but we have to move on, and so here it is.**

**Thank you for your patience and understanding, for sticking with me, and for all the favorites, follows, and reviews here on , and the comments, likes, and reblogs on tumblr. Please stay with me! Let me know whether you're still out there and whether you like this. I LOVE to hear from you! No, actually, I NEED to hear from you - really! My readers are the best, and I've come to depend on all of you.**

**Next chapter - Spanish flu and cancer scare!**

Chapter 9

Mrs. Hughes read on, skimming entries, eager to discover why Mr. Carson had never told her he had been planning to ask her to accompany him to Haxby:

_December 3, 1918_

_Mrs. Hughes, I've been trying for weeks to muster the courage and to find the proper opportunity to ask you to come to Haxby Park with me. I've told Lady Mary that I will approach you in my own time, when I deem it appropriate, and she's been very patient. I've made it perfectly clear that I'll not be going anywhere unless I obtain an affirmative response from you. Unfortunately, she thinks your answer a foregone conclusion! Seeing no need to disturb you until the move draws nearer, she has left it in my hands to secure your commitment. I'm sure she believes that if I am willing to __stay__ at Downton for the sake of our excellent working rapport and our friendship, then you will be just as willing to __leave__ Downton for the same reasons. I, on the other hand, am not so convinced that you will._

_It's true you've said you'll miss me if I leave, but does that mean that you will come with me if I ask? Is it even fair for me to ask that of you? You've not been here quite as long as I, but I know you consider this your home. I believe you've been happy at Downton. I see how fond you are of the people here, and how fond they are of you. Furthermore, I am well aware that you hold Lady Mary in no high regard, and you will not be eager to place yourself in her service._

_As we sat in my pantry and somberly drank our tea this evening, I couldn't bring myself to ask. The same fear that has prevented me every night these past weeks gripped my heart again tonight, and so I said nothing, but only prayed for some miracle to deliver me from my torment._

_It breaks my heart to see the sadness in your eyes and to know that you think we have only a few short months left together. How I long to tell you that I shall never be willingly parted from you! I fear, though, that if I ask you to accept the housekeeper's post at Haxby, and you refuse, I shall be forced inadvertently to reveal the depth of my feelings for you. Should you decline, I might be able to find some flimsy excuse not to go myself, but it will be obvious to anyone with any sense at all that I will be staying for your sake. If, as I suspect, you don't return my affections, things will be uncomfortable and awkward between us, and I will have lost not only my Love, but my best friend, as well._

_January 14, 1919_

_I've realised something, Mrs. Hughes, and the longer I ponder it, the more certain I become. You and I will not be going to Haxby, because Lady Mary is never going to marry Sir Richard. I'm as sure of it now as I am of my love for you._

_I've known Lady Mary all her life. She's never been one to "settle," and you can be sure she's not going to change now. She doesn't love Sir Richard. She doesn't even __like__ the man. She loves Mr. Matthew, and he loves her. I'm certain of it. Sir Richard has been asking Lady Mary to set a date for the wedding, and she refuses. I believe she still holds out hope that Mr. Matthew will break things off with Miss Swire, as do I. The only reason they're still together is that she's been so devoted to him since his injury that he would feel guilty sending her away._

_It strikes me what an absurd world we live in, Mrs. Hughes, - a world in which His Lordship married Her Ladyship out of financial need, our Daisy married William out of pity, Mr. Matthew would marry Miss Swire out of guilt, and Lady Mary would marry Sir Richard out of desperation! Does no one marry for love?_

_Even if Mr. Matthew and Miss Swire do not part ways, I believe Lady Mary will throw Sir Richard over before long. Until she does, I will bide my time. I have only to wait. I have been agonising over asking you to leave everyone you love, everything you've worked so hard to achieve, and the respectable, satisfying life you've built for yourself here at Downton, all to place yourself in the service of a young woman you hold in no great esteem and a vile man you hardly know but dislike all the same. I have been torn at the notion of asking you to do this all for __me__, for the sake of our friendship and our professional affinity. Fortunately, I realise now that I shall never have to ask it of you. Lady Mary will surely break the engagement before we get anywhere near Haxby. Perhaps even before then, Sir Richard will behave badly enough to provide me with a credible excuse to decline his offer of employment. In the meantime, I need only to play along, to pretend that I am planning to go to Haxby, all the while never intending to leave Downton. With this epiphany, I feel a tremendous weight has been lifted from my shoulders, and my heart is a great deal lighter tonight._

_February 26, 1919_

_Mrs. Hughes, my prayers have been answered, and I have never before felt such relief! Tonight, while you and I sat chatting in my pantry, Anna arrived to supply the pretext I require to free myself from this intolerable situation._

_You and I were discussing my leaving Downton, and naturally, I was acting as if I still intended to go to Haxby. I thought that if Lady Mary were going to carry on this pretense, then so must I. Far be it from me to pronounce judgement on her romantic follies. I so hated to have to deceive you, but I had been left with little choice._

_At one point in our conversation, you called Lady Mary an "uppity minx," and I almost laughed. I tried to describe how precious she was as a young girl, and I think perhaps you softened a bit at my story of the sixpence and the kiss. When I said that I hope to help her, I meant it. I know you'll never appreciate my fondness for the girl, but you have the good grace to tolerate it for my sake, and I am grateful. Still, I believe I would have been hard pressed to lure you away from the housekeeper's post at Downton Abbey to work for Lady Mary Carlisle of Haxby Park, and I am greatly relieved that I shall not have to try._

_I sincerely hope that when I tell Lady Mary that Sir Richard offered Anna a sum of money in exchange for information about her activities, she will turn him out at once. Indeed, I shall be very disappointed if she does not! Yet even if, for some reason unknown to me, she is set in her course and determined to keep on with him, I now have reason enough to refuse the post at Haxby, and that knowledge is a considerable consolation to me._

_When Anna had left my pantry earlier, after delivering her news, you looked up at me with a hopeful smile and asked, "You won't be leaving, then?"_

_Though I was none too eager to relay the news to Lady Mary, I was only too happy to smile back at you and answer, "No, Mrs. Hughes, I will not."_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N I'm sorry, friends! I lied! I thought I would get to Mrs. Hughes's cancer scare in this chapter, but I didn't quite make it. This chapter covers only the wrap-up of Haxby and Mr. Carson's bout with the Spanish Flu. I hope to have the next chapter, dealing with the cancer scare, done soon. ****I know in recent chapters, there hasn't been much action in the present. It's all been reading about and recalling past events, but I hope you don't mind reliving some of our favorite scenes. Well, MY favorites, any way; I'll speak for myself. I promise some current action soon! ****Please tell me you're all still with me!**

**Thank you again for all your support and encouragement in the form of reviews, favorites, and follows, as well as reblogs, comments, and likes on tumblr. You're all very kind.**

Chapter 10

Mrs. Hughes wanted to press on further into Mr. Carson's diary, but she needed a few moments to recover from reading about the whole Haxby ordeal. She had been beset by so many swirling emotions that she could hardly describe what she felt.

First and foremost, she was elated to know that Mr. Carson had never intended to leave Downton without her. She could never bear to be separated from him, and she was thrilled to have discovered he found the possibility just as distasteful. He had actually asked Lady Mary to offer Mrs. Hughes a post a Haxby, and he had been willing to remain at Downton if she did not accept it! This unexpected evidence of his love moved her perhaps more than anything else she had read so far.

At the same time, she was disappointed that he never had asked her to go with him. She would have said yes, despite her disapproval of Lady Mary. If Lady Mary herself had asked her, Mrs. Hughes might not have been so keen, but knowing that it was _Mr. Carson's_ idea, and knowing that _he_ wanted her there with him …well, she could never say no to _him_! If he had asked, and she had agreed, perhaps they would have declared their love then and there. Perhaps they would be together right now. Perhaps … But pondering "perhaps" was pointless, so she pondered no further.

Lastly, Mrs. Hughes was only mildly hurt that he had not shared his suspicion (which ultimately had proven prophetic) that Lady Mary would sack Sir Richard in the end. She would have been greatly consoled during those dark days if Mr. Carson had only told her that he had never expected Lady Mary to go through with the marriage in the first place. She understood, however, why he had not told her. As he had written in the last entry she had read, she could never comprehend his particular affection for Lady Mary, but she could abide it. He would never reveal anything that might cast an ill light on Lady Mary's character or might suggest less than honorable behavior. If Lady Mary were acting as if everything were rosy between her and Sir Richard, then Mr. Carson would not refute it.

Finally accepting everything that had happened during that bleak period and consoling herself with the fact that ultimately, all came right, Mrs. Hughes searched for and found an entry dealing with another unpleasant time, albeit one of shorter duration – another time she had feared losing Mr. Carson:

_April 17, 1919_

_Mrs. Hughes, once again you find yourself my nurse and caretaker. I have been struck with this abominable Spanish Flu, the very same that has claimed Miss Swire and nearly took Her Ladyship, as well. I consider myself very fortunate indeed to have made it through, and I attribute my recovery solely to your tender ministrations._

_Just as you did last time I was ill, you have attended to me with a devotion that warms me inside. I would like to believe that devotion to be exclusive, but I've seen how you care for others just as lovingly. If you were not so kind and compassionate by nature, I might think myself special in your eyes._ _When you do these things for me, oddly enough, the fact that you hold me in no special regard makes me love you even more. If you loved me, your care would not be so remarkable; any woman would do the same for the man she loved. To run yourself ragged for someone who is merely a friend and colleague, however… well, that makes you an extraordinary woman, indeed._

_I have been rather delirious with fever these past days and am only now feeling somewhat myself again. I cannot recall a great deal of what has happened, but every recollection I do have involves you: your feeling my face for fever, dabbing my brow with a cloth, administering my medicine, bringing my meals, keeping my water glass full, and adjusting my pillow and blankets. I seem to remember enjoying, even in my diminished capacity, occasions when you helped me to sit up, positioned my pillow behind me, and arranged my blankets. In the process, you leaned near me and even placed your arms about me to support me. Your proximity was maddening and your touch entirely too tantalizing. Had I not been in such a weakened state, Heaven knows what I might have done! But no good can come from my dwelling on those thoughts now, so I shall simply say that when I have recovered completely, I shall try to find some way to repay your kindness._

Mrs. Hughes thought back to those days when she had thought she might lose Mr. Carson. When she had first found him ill in his pantry, she had thought it nothing serious, but after others had begun to take ill and Dr. Clarkson had determined it was Spanish Flu, she had begun to worry in earnest. By the time they had feared losing Her Ladyship and Miss Swire had succumbed to the illness, Mrs. Hughes had been beside herself. Outwardly, she had maintained her professional demeanor, of course, and no one had suspected just how frightened she had been for her beloved butler. She had tried especially hard to be cheerful around Mr. Carson himself, but when she had found herself alone in the privacy of her sitting room or her bedroom, she had let her tears fall freely. During the working day, she had checked in on him as often as her work had allowed, bustling about and fussing over him when she could. The first two nights, when the fever had been at its worst, she had stayed with him all night. Then, after the fever had broken, she had sat with him during the evenings until he had fallen asleep for the night. At a certain time, she had had to retire to her own room, but sleep had failed to overcome her anxiety, and she had often crept back to his room during those restless nights just to reassure herself. After several days, Mr. Carson had recovered fully, and Mrs. Hughes had been able to breathe easily again, but she would never forget the feeling of dread that had haunted her when she considered the hole that would be left in her life and in her heart if anything had happened to him.

Mrs. Hughes knew that she was reading on borrowed time. Mr. Carson could wake at any moment and find her missing. She had been listening carefully for any sound from the direction of the men's corridor, but all was silent. She couldn't resist delving deeper into the volume before her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to read next.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Thank you to everyone who is following this story. It's so nice to know that someone likes what I'm writing! I hope you continue to enjoy. ****PLEASE continue to review. Your thoughtful comments give me inspiration and new ideas. Your reviews help set the pace and sometimes even change the course of the story. And they make me very, VERY happy! (Perhaps you didn't know how you participate in the progress of this story.) So if you'd like a happier writer, more frequent updates, and a more engaging story, let me hear from you!**

***My special thanks to GeordieLass for her help with a technical issue and for her constant support!**

Chapter 11

Mrs. Hughes found the entries Mr. Carson had written during the time she had thought she might have had cancer. She hadn't told him, but he'd found out. He'd pretended he hadn't known, but as Mrs. Hughes had told Mrs. Patmore, "He's a hopeless liar."

_April 13__th__ 1920_

_Something is wrong, Mrs. Hughes, and I don't know what it is. You've not been yourself lately. At first, I thought you were just trying to irritate me, aggravating me as I sometimes deserve, but it's more than that, something much more serious. You're enduring a trying time right now, for some reason unknown to me, and I've been less than helpful. You've needed me to be patient and understanding, and I've been short and sharp with you. My recent behaviour fills me with remorse, and I must endeavour to atone for my thoughtlessness. I tried tonight to ask you to tell me what's wrong and to let me help. I offered my support and told you that I'm on your side, but you said nothing, only thanked me and bade me goodnight._

_Will you not tell me what it is that pains you so? Have we not been good friends all these years? I know that my feelings for you run far deeper than yours for me, but I had thought you that cared for me at least enough talk about whatever it is. You're suffering, and I want to ease your sorrow. I can't bear to see your tired, red-rimmed eyes, to hear the helplessness in your voice, and to hear the muffled sobs coming from your sitting room late at night after you think I've gone up. You're the strongest woman I've ever known, Mrs. Hughes, and I do believe you could endure almost anything, but you needn't face your troubles alone. The man who loves you is waiting to shoulder your burden, if you'll only allow him._

_April 22__nd__ 1920_

_Mrs. Hughes, you're ill - or you might be. When I overheard you and Mrs. Patmore talking today about waiting to hear from Dr. Clarkson, my heart sank. I had to know more. I walked into the village to find Dr. Clarkson, and I tricked him into admitting that you may be ill. He didn't reveal as much as I would have liked to know, so when I returned to the house, I found Mrs. Patmore and pretended to know more than I actually did. She confirmed that it may be cancer._

_Perhaps it's selfish, but I'm jealous of Mrs. Patmore. I want to be the one whom you trust, the one in whom you confide. I want to hold you in my arms, whisper soothing words, and dry your tears. You won't let me, though, and I feel powerless._

_I am beside myself with worry. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you. I think of your empty sitting room, your key ring lying orphaned on your desk. I picture the empty chair to my right at meals, and I imagine silent corridors, no longer graced with the jingling of your keys and the clicking of your heels. The idea of spending my evenings alone in my pantry, drinking port while staring at the empty glass that should be yours, fills me with unspeakable terror, and every night I pray to God that I shall be spared that fate._

_April 23__rd__ 1920_

_The doctor told me yesterday that it would do you good to rest, Mrs. Hughes, and so I spoke to Her Ladyship today about lessening your duties. She seemed very concerned and was eager to accommodate my request. I'm trying to prevent you from working too hard, but I'm having as difficult a time with that as you did keeping me down when I was ill. With Lady Edith's wedding tomorrow, there's no way to slow you down except perhaps to __tie__ you down. When the hour grew late tonight and you were still working, I went to your sitting room and tried to shoo you off to bed, but you would have none of it. I'm glad at least to see that your determination and independence have not changed. I have always admired your spirit and your fire, but if your obstinacy doesn't claim you first, it will certainly be the death of __me__!_

_April 24__th__ 1920_

_I hope today's excitement hasn't been too much for you, Mrs. Hughes. The cancellation of the wedding has caused more commotion and more work for us than we would have had if it had actually proceeded. While I feel sorry for Lady Edith, I cannot help but think that after what Sir Anthony has done, she's had a lucky escape._

_Mrs. Patmore has told me that you shall know your test results tomorrow. She says you're to call on Dr. Clarkson in the afternoon. I'm sure I shall not be able to breathe until I know you are well._

_April 25__th__ 1920_

_Oh, Mrs. Hughes! I cannot describe the sense of relief and sheer happiness that washed over me when Mrs. Patmore told me this afternoon that it isn't cancer. My heart leapt, and I wanted to find you and sweep you into my arms right then and there. If you had told me the news yourself, I honestly think I would have thrown caution to wind and kissed you fervently, consequences be damned. Instead, I simply returned to polishing the silver, but I will say that I polished with remarkable zeal, and the silver has never shone brighter._

_This evening as we sat together, everything had returned to normal. We drank the special sherry I'd been saving – your favourite. The twinkle was back in your eyes, the glow again in your cheeks, and the lilting cadence once more in your voice. We didn't speak of the good news at all, but we didn't have to. You are well, Mrs. Hughes, and my world is made once again right._

Why did every entry have to bring Mrs. Hughes to tears? It wasn't so much the recollection of her fear and anguish during those weeks as the stark realization of the pain she had caused Mr. Carson by not telling him. At the time, she hadn't known that he'd loved her. Had she known, would she have told him? She didn't know. As she'd told Mrs. Patmore at the time, she hadn't wanted to be a sick or dying woman in Mr. Carson's eyes. She hadn't wanted his pity. If she _had_ known the depth of his feelings, she would have wanted to spare him the pain _she_ had endured when _he_ had been ill; she remembered well the agony of seeing him lying in bed, writhing with fever. Whether she would have told him or not didn't matter now, anyway. The reality was that he _had_ loved her, and he _had_ known, and he _had_ borne the same burden, and she regretted that his sorrow was amplified because she hadn't confided in him.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Hughes had recovered herself and prepared to read more, but she stopped suddenly when she heard muffled noises coming from down the corridor.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the kind reviews! I also received a great number of follows and favorites after the last chapter, for which I am likewise grateful. I did promise that my readers' input causes me to work faster and, I hope, better. I was very encouraged by so many lovely reviews, and I was eager to update quickly. Here's the result. I hope you enjoy it. Please keep sharing your thoughts!**

**A/N(2) This is a re-post, slightly modified to be consistent with later chapters.**

Chapter 12

Just as Mrs. Hughes was about to read the next passage, she heard soft noises coming from the direction of the men's corridor. They weren't very loud, and she wouldn't have heard them if she hadn't been listening intently. Quickly, she tucked Mr. Carson's journal under her mattress and hurried off to investigate. As she feared, the sounds were coming from Mr. Carson's room. She entered to find him in some distress. He was sitting half-way up, propped on his elbows, tossing about uncomfortably. His face was pale, his eyes were wide, he was perspiring, and he seemed short of breath. Cursing herself for ever having left his side, she rushed over and sat facing him on the edge of his bed. She placed a hand on his shoulder and carefully pushed him back onto his pillow. Then she took hold of his hand and leaned over him to caress his forehead and cheek. He was aware and responsive, but clearly uneasy.

"Mrs. Hughes … I'm not … not well at all …" he managed between labored breaths.

"Shhhh. Don't try to talk just now," she told him, struggling through her own shaky breathing.

Having heard the commotion, Mr. Barrow appeared at the door and asked, "Mrs. Hughes, is Mr. Carson not well?"

"No, he's not, I'm afraid. Go and call for Dr. Clarkson at once. And Mr. Barrow," she instructed, striving to keep her voice steady, "you must hurry. Please."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Right away," he promised as he scurried off to summon the doctor.

Mrs. Hughes waited to see if James or Alfred had been roused by the disturbance, but apparently neither had, and so she returned her attention to Mr. Carson. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but she thought it wiser not to make him speak at the moment. He was still pale and breathing heavily, but he seemed to be calming a bit. She was still squeezing his hand with one of hers; with the other, she pushed the hair back from his forehead, gently stroked his cheek, and then lowered her hand to rest on his chest, over his heart. All this she had done without thinking. Suddenly struck by the intimacy of it all, she removed her hands and rose from the bed. Mr. Carson's breathing was becoming more regular, and his color was beginning to return to normal. Mrs. Hughes walked around to the other side of his bed and took his water glass from the night table. Holding it out to him, she suggested, "Why don't you drink some water?"

He nodded his head and slowly raised himself. She placed her free hand on his back, rubbed lightly, and handed him the glass. He accepted it, took a small sip of water, and returned it to her. After setting the glass back down, she adjusted his pillow against the headboard and helped him to lean back against it. He now seemed more comfortable. She removed her own pillow, blanket, and book from the chair next to his bed where she had left them earlier and then sat down.

"You've given me a real fright, Mr. Carson. Are you feeling any better now?" asked Mrs. Hughes.

"A little," he answered, sighing.

"What's happened?" she wanted to know.

"I'm not sure," Mr. Carson responded weakly. "I woke and tried to sit up, but started feeling very uneasy. My heart was pounding, and my chest ached. I felt faint and could hardly breathe."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mr. Carson. I had just gone to my room for a moment, and … I came as soon as I heard you moving about … Well, Dr. Clarkson will be here soon. He'll know what to do," she tried to reassure him – and herself.

Just then, Mr. Barrow returned to report, "Dr. Clarkson is on his way. He'll be here shortly. I'll wait for him downstairs and show him up when he arrives. Is there anything else I should do, Mrs. Hughes?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Barrow. You've been very helpful, and Mr. Carson does seem a bit better now. If you'll just bring the doctor when he comes, I shall be very grateful," said Mrs. Hughes.

"Right. I'll be back as soon as he arrives," he promised as he headed off.

Mrs. Hughes reached out and patted Mr. Carson's hand, leaving her own hand on top of his afterward.

"I'm sure everything will be all right," she told him, rather more confidently than she felt.

"I'm glad _one_ of us is," he replied cynically. She'd never seen him so uncertain before, even fearful, and it frightened her.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Carson. You're a strong, healthy man. It's going to take more than this to keep you down. You'll be right as rain no time. You'll see," she said with a tentative smile.

"I hope you're right, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm not so sure I share your confidence," he admitted, looking down at the bed.

Mrs. Hughes didn't know what to say to that, and so she kept her peace. Still holding his hand, she began to brush her thumb over his knuckles. He looked at their hands and smiled.

"Thank you for being here and for seeing me through this. I can't tell you how grateful I am," he said sincerely, looking deep into her eyes.

"Nonsense! Don't be silly. Where else would I be?" she demanded.

"At this hour? In your bed, asleep, I should think!" he offered with a mock serious look.

She smiled at his mild joke, happy that he was still able to call upon his wry sense of humor.

"Mr. Carson," she returned, regarding him fondly, "I'll never rest easy until I know you're well."

The two remained caught in each other's gaze for a long moment, and silence prevailed. They sat quietly, each to his own thoughts, waiting for the doctor. Before long, Mr. Barrow arrived with Dr. Clarkson in tow.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson," the doctor greeted them as he entered.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Clarkson," said Mrs. Hughes.

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," echoed Mr. Carson.

"I'd like to examine Mr. Carson now. If you'll both just wait outside …" Dr. Clarkson requested, looking at the housekeeper and under-butler and inclining his head toward the door.

"Certainly. We'll give you some privacy," replied Mrs. Hughes, and she retreated with Mr. Barrow to the corridor, closing the door behind her.

Once outside the room, she sent Mr. Barrow downstairs to make some tea. Casting a glance back and forth to be sure no one else was about, she pressed her ear to Mr. Carson's door.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N First off, many, MANY thanks to caddydrummer91, a reader who has graciously assisted me with the medical details in this story. I know very little about cardiac ailments and even less about what doctors knew and didn't know a hundred years ago. caddydrummer91 very generously took the time to do some research for me and showed herself to be extremely patient in the face of my endless questioning. I was really at a loss before she offered and supplied her help, and now, suddenly, I sound like a cardiologist! Truly, I could not have proceeded without her help.**

**Second, because I had written myself into a bit of a hole, I had to modify the last chapter slightly. I have re-posted it with very slight changes. The only change of note is that Mr. Carson is not going to go to the hospital for tests; rather, Dr. Clarkson is going to offer his diagnosis right then and there in Mr. Carson's bedroom. (And, conveniently, of course, Mrs. Hughes will be eavesdropping!) caddydrummer explained to me that the only test that might have been done would involve a string galvanometer, and Dr. Clarkson would not be likely to have one at a small, rural hospital. You can go back and read the modified chapter if you'd like, but it's probably not necessary.**

**Thank you, as always, for the reviews, favorites, and follows. I'm flattered that I'm still getting so many of these this far into a story. It shows me you're still interested. Keep sending me the LOVE, people, because I'm sending it right back at you! And of course, please stick with me!**

Chapter 13

Dr. Clarkson set down his bag, opened it up, and took out his stethoscope. He asked Mr. Carson to unbutton his pajama shirt and listened carefully to his heart for a few minutes. Then he asked Mr. Carson to recount his recent incident, and the butler told him what had happened.

"Mr. Carson," began the doctor, "I believe you're suffering from _angina pectoris_, that is, chest pain that occurs when the heart can't get enough oxygen. The vessels leading to the heart are hardened or constricted, and consequently, the blood flow is inadequate."

"How serious is it?" Mr. Carson wanted to know.

"It will be recurring," continued Dr. Clarkson, "and it can cause severe pain, primarily when you exert yourself physically or are subject to emotional or psychological stress. More importantly, though, it can lead to _myocardial infarction_, in which the blood flow to the heart is so restricted that the heart muscle dies. This, of course, would be lethal."

"And you're certain of this?" asked Mr. Carson.

"Fairly certain, yes," answered the doctor. "You could go to London for a test. A colleague of mine has an instrument called a string galvanometer; it measures the electrical conductivity of the heart. The results would either confirm or refute my diagnosis. I'm not sure the test is necessary, however, because either way, I would recommend the same course of action."

"And what would that be?" the butler inquired.

"Well, first, complete bed rest for a week, followed by significantly limited activity and a gradual return to necessary activities. There is also a medication, called nitroglycerin, that you can take when you feel the onset of symptoms. It will relax your arteries and increase blood flow; it should offer you some relief," the doctor explained patiently. He paused before adding, "And I would urge you strongly to consider retirement."

Mr. Carson looked at the doctor in disbelief.

"The demands of your occupation are not helping your condition, Mr. Carson. Every time you climb the stairs with a heavily laden tray, or become agitated by a defiant footman, or worry over a delayed wine delivery, you risk another episode, one which could prove fatal."

Mr. Carson sat mute, trying to comprehend everything the doctor had just told him.

"Would you like me to speak to Lord and Lady Grantham?" Dr. Clarkson asked kindly.

"No, thank you, Doctor. I must ask that you mention this to no one, please, since I am not certain … I have not decided … until I have had time to consider. For now, I ask that you tell everyone only that I am to rest for a time," said Mr. Carson.

"Very well," the doctor sighed with a disapproving shake of his head. "May I not tell even Mrs. Hughes?"

"Why … Mrs. Hughes, particularly?" queried Mr. Carson, cautiously.

"The two of you do work together closely, and you're good friends. I'm sorry if I presumed … Only I thought … Well, you came to me last year when we thought she might have been ill. _She_ must have told _you_ about _her_ condition."

"No, actually, Doctor, _you_ told me," Mr. Carson informed him, "and Mrs. Patmore filled in the details. I admit I deceived you both, but Mrs. Hughes had not been very forthcoming, and I had to know. I was very concerned for her."

"And she'll not be just as concerned for you?" countered Dr. Clarkson.

"It's not quite the same … " said Mr. Carson, pensively.

"Isn't it?" the doctor challenged.

"No, it isn't." insisted the patient.

"All right," the doctor sighed, becoming more exasperated, "we'll not speak of retirement now, but I do insist on complete bed rest for at least a week. And I _will_ be asking Mrs. Hughes to watch over you, to be sure you don't try anything foolish. In the meantime, we'll monitor your progress. After a week, I'll examine you again, and we'll discuss it further."

"But I can't be bedridden that long!" protested Mr. Carson.

"I'll hear no disagreement. I insist!" Dr. Clarkson stated emphatically. "I'll leave some nitroglycerin tablets with Mrs. Hughes, and I'll come back to see you in the evening. I'm giving you strict instructions, and you'll not like to have to answer to Mrs. Hughes if you disobey and make yourself worse! On your own head be it!"

"Thank you, Doctor," said the butler, "but I'll handle Mrs. Hughes."

"Mr. Carson," the doctor chuckled while closing his bag and turning to leave, "I don't believe _anyone_ could _ever_ 'handle' Mrs. Hughes!"

Mrs. Hughes could tell that the doctor was preparing to leave and backed away from the door just in time. The door opened and Dr. Clarkson came out.

"I'll come back to check on him this evening," he informed Mrs. Hughes.

"Is it serious?" she asked, already knowing the answer, and also knowing that the doctor wouldn't supply that information.

"I can't say. He'll need to stay in bed for a week, to keep activity to a bare minimum, and to try to remain calm. He should take these if he starts to feel ill again. We'll see how he is after a week," he answered, handing her a small vial of nitroglycerin tablets.

"I see," responded Mrs. Hughes, taking the vial from him. "Mr. Barrow has made some tea for you. I'll take you downstairs."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Hughes, but there's no need. I know my way. You'll want to stay with Mr. Carson," Dr. Clarkson said.

"Thank you, Doctor," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I'll see that he stays put."

With a nod, Dr. Clarkson went on his way, leaving Mrs. Hughes standing alone with her worries.


End file.
